Acted Like A Demon Lord-Now I’m Leading an Army of Real Ones

Chapter 1: The Wrong Answer

In a world named Exmodia, deep within the heart of a cursed continent, hundreds of demons gathered at an ancient altar.

They surrounded a massive magic circle pulsing with a sickening purple and black light.

The air in the ruined hall was hot and heavy, thick with the smell of sulfur and a despair that had settled over centuries.

At the center of the circle lay the corpse of the last Demon King.

His body was torn apart in his final battle, yet the remnants of his aura still radiated an energy of destruction that made lesser demons tremble.

Cracked stone pillars reached for an unseen ceiling, bearing the weight of history and failure. Unnatural shadows danced in the corners of the room, as if darkness itself was holding its breath, watching the forbidden ritual.

A demon woman in dark priestess robes, Valeria, stood before the altar.

Her pale, beautiful face was grim as she raised her slender hands.

Behind her, the ritual's witnesses, the remaining generals, nobles, and commanders, raised their hands in unison.

Their hoarse, powerful voices echoed throughout the hall, a plea born from desperation.

"Our long-lost king! Answer our call from the void! We, the demon-blooded, suffer under oppression. We need a leader! Acknowledge that you are the Demon King… and appear!"

The magic circle flared brighter, devouring the energy of its callers.

The tension grew until it was suffocating. They all waited. Whoever answered… whatever appeared… would be their king.

On another world... Earth.

My name is Elvar Sagara. I'm just an ordinary college student and, to be honest, my life is pretty boring.

But there was one thing I was looking forward to next week: the Halloween festival on campus. That's why I headed to the mall today, to find the perfect costume.

In a dim corner of the costume shop, among rows of cheap wizard robes and generic ghost masks, one outfit caught my eye.

It wasn't hanging with the others. It was displayed behind a special glass case, illuminated by a single spotlight, as if it wasn't for sale, but to be admired… or feared.

A long black coat with elegant blood-red accents hung neatly on a metal mannequin, complete with high leather boots and a heavy cloak that draped gracefully to the floor.

Beside it, a blood-red mask with a single horn jutting from the center of the forehead was mounted on a special velvet stand, facing directly toward me.

Next to it, two additional black horns were neatly arranged as separate head accessories. The mask's eyes were empty, but I swear… it felt like it was staring back, as if judging whether I was worthy.

A small plaque beneath it read: "Limited Edition – Demon King Replica."

"A replica, huh?" I thought. But for some reason, it felt more real than just a replica. As if… it was waiting for someone to wear it.

I got closer, pressing my face against the display glass.

I carefully studied every stitch, every fine carving on the mask. The more I looked, the more familiar it felt.

Then it hit me. It was the spitting image of a Demon King from a popular comic I read.

Damn, it's a perfect match. Absolutely perfect.

Without a second thought, I called the shopkeeper.

When I saw the price tag, my heart skipped a beat. This would eat up most of my part-time job salary for the month.

"Ah, screw it. When else will I get to look this cool? You only live once." I bought it. The entire set, from the cloak to the mask.

After the transaction was done and the costume was neatly packed in a large box, I started walking home. My steps felt light, I couldn't wait to try it on.

The only friend I had tonight was my own reflection in the shop windows I passed.

At twenty, maybe I should have been socializing more instead of spending my time with comics and fictional characters, but things like this made my life as an orphan feel a little more colorful.

I arrived at my humble lodging, a small room just big enough for one person, a bed, and a pile of comics in the corner.

I immediately rushed in, put down my bag, and opened the costume box with excitement.

I lifted the lid, and the same cold aura from the shop seemed to spread throughout my room. I picked up the mask first.

"Pretty creepy, huh…" I thought, turning it over in my hands. But it's great for Halloween. And the blood-red color fits the theme.

I think I'll be more confident at the festival with this.

One by one, I put on the costume.

The pants, the boots, then the black coat which felt heavy and high-quality.

Lastly, the charming cloak that made me feel like royalty. It all felt cool.

Strangely, the size was a perfect fit for my average, non-muscular body.

As if it were custom-made for me.

I stood in front of the large mirror in my room.

Only one last part remained.

I picked up the crimson mask with a single horn jutting from the center of the forehead.

Beside it, I attached the two black horns, separate accessories meant to complete the look.

Silence for a moment.

From the reflection in the mirror, it was no longer Elvar Sagara I saw.

The figure was… regal, terrifying, imposing. I was genuinely impressed with myself.

Suddenly, a playful impulse took over.

"Posing and acting seems like it would be fun."

I folded my arms across my chest.

My body, which usually had a slight slouch, now stood tall and proud.

I stared at my own reflection behind the mask, and with the deepest, most imposing voice I could manage,

I bellowed:

"Hahaha! I am the true Demon King! I will lead you all!"

My laughter grew louder, echoing in my small room.

I realized how ridiculous I was being, but I didn't care. I was completely into the role.

"HAHAHAHA!"

Then… I blinked.

The moment my eyelids opened again, the smell of my room's paint was gone.

It was replaced by the stench of sulfur, dried blood, and the ozone from active magic.

The wooden floor of my lodging had turned into cold, black stone.

And the mirror in front of me… had become a vast hall.

I was still standing in the same pose. But now, I was surrounded by terrifying creatures.

Demons. They were all bowing toward me.

My laughter… strangely, hadn't stopped.

"HAHAHA…"

My heart is about to leap out of my chest.

What the hell is this?!

I was genuinely terrified.

The demons before me looked terrifyingly real.

There was one as large as a bull with steel skin, another as slender as a shadow with multiple arms, and some were covered in scales like dragons.

This was not a Halloween contest.

Strangely, even though my mind was screaming in panic, my body didn't betray me.

My whole body felt light, and there wasn't a single tremor of fear.

Normally, when people are scared, their legs should at least tremble, right? Why am I so calm?

I tried to analyze this insane situation. 

Is this a curse from the mask? Or just a very vivid dream?

I sniffed the air again. The smell of sulfur, the coppery tang of blood, and a strange smell like burnt metal.

It all felt real to my nose.

The oppressive heat also clung to my skin.

I could feel the gazes of hundreds of creatures fixed on me, filled with hope and fear.

" Damn it. I'm sure this is reality. "

I wracked my brain. So if this is real, what am I doing here? Why are they all bowing to me? Is it because my appearance…

resembles a Demon King? That seems to be it.

A horrifying conclusion surfaced in my mind.

That means, if I admit that I'm an ordinary human and not the Demon King…

I'm sure I'll be killed on the spot, no questions asked.

Unbeknownst to Elvar, at that very same moment, his act in front of the mirror had crossed dimensions.

The declaration had become the perfect answer to the desperate call from the demons who wanted a leader.

The direct cause was a fatal combination: Elvar's loud and sincere voice embodying his role, coupled with the collective hope of hundreds of demons. The fabric of dimensions matched the demons' "call" with Elvar's "answer" through his performance.

And now, fate had made a terrible mistake.

Okay, okay, calm down. I have to stay calm.

My ridiculous laughter was now the only shield I had. This was no longer a game. It was the only thing keeping me alive.

So… what am I supposed to do now?

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 Author Tought: 

In this story, paragraphs are formatted to help distinguish perspectives and emotions:

– First-person narration (Elvar’s inner thoughts) is written in italics, usually 1–3 sentences per paragraph.

– Third-person narration uses normal font and spans 2–5 sentences per paragraph.

– All spoken dialogue is in regular font within quotation marks.

– Shouts or intense declarations are written in bold.

I hope this helps you enjoy Elvar’s journey more clearly. Feel free to share feedback if anything feels off.

Add this story to your collection if you're intrigued by Elvar's journey.

His path is just beginning, and who knows where fate will take him next.